Stockholm
by greenconverses
Summary: Lord Kronos wants a pretty little Oracle. What Kronos wants, Luke fetches. Luke/Rachel. AU. Written for the PJO Six-Word Drabblefest.


**Author's notes:** Yeaaaaaah, I really don't know where this came from guys. It started out innocently enough for the Percy Jackson Six-Word Drabblefest over on LiveJournal, and then it became this epic, six-word continuing AU _thing_. There's some suggestive bits in here, nothing very explicit, and some mild dark themes with kidnapping, but again, nothing explicit.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Percy Jackson and the Olympians.

* * *

**Stockholm**

**i.**

Kronos wants a pretty little Oracle.  
So what he wants, Luke fetches.

He finds her; snatches her right  
out from under Percy Jackson's nose.

**-o-**

She's prettier than he expected.  
Mouthier, too. But Luke likes that.

Rachel Elizabeth Dare doesn't like him  
though. He'll change that soon enough.

**-o-**

"Shackles. How quaint," she says, rattling  
her chains. "Gonna feed me bread  
and water once a day too?"

"No. You're going to be spoiled,"  
Luke replies. "In every way possible."

Rachel gulps. She's a smart girl.

**-o-**

"Keep her entertained," Kronos demands. "Oracles  
are sensitive beings. They won't prophesy  
unless they're completely content with life."

_That's going to be easier said  
than done_, Luke thinks. Kronos doesn't  
have to deal with that temper.

**-o-**

Firelight makes her hair glow gold,  
skin tan, eyes like emerald pools.  
Dress is silk, hair in curls.  
Distracting from her beauty is the  
glistening silver chains on her wrists.

It bothers Luke only a bit.

"You were a hero once, right?  
Before you became a kidnapping dick?"

"Heroes aren't all they're cracked up  
to be," Luke replies, holding out  
a cake for her to taste.  
She turns up her nose. Typical.  
"You're missing out. These are delicious."

He slides the cake into his  
mouth, slow and sensual, and makes  
a little sound for dramatic effect.  
Rachel blushes and looks away. Innocent.

Luke leans forward; she sits tall.  
Reaches out, runs a finger over  
a full, bottom lip. She's trembling.

"You're missing out on a lot  
of things," he says, angling his  
head. "I could show you everything."

He can feel her resistance crumbling.  
He tastes triumph when they kiss.  
The feeling doesn't last very long.

Her hand curls in his shirt  
and then she shoves him away.

"Stay away from me, Luke Castellan,"  
she warns, her green eyes hard.  
"I know what your game is."

She turns away, chains clinking tauntingly.

Luke cusses. Kronos won't be happy.

**ii.**

Lord Kronos says she's an Oracle.  
Rachel's never predicted a thing in  
her entire life. Luke grabbed the  
wrong girl, and now she's trapped.

Chained to an obsidian wall in  
a mountain palace. No window either.

Her only company? A blue-eyed,  
fallen angel, with a devilish smile.  
She is fucked, without a doubt.

Percy better get his ass here.

**-o-**

If he weren't the bad guy,  
Rachel would've fallen hard for Luke.

He's got a wicked, charming smile.  
A sense of humor; street smarts.  
A body to die for – fit, muscular.  
Not that she notices it... much.

She tells herself she isn't anyway.  
Isn't falling for him, that is.  
Her heart pounds every time he's  
near, and tells a different story.

**-o-**

"He's getting angry," Luke says, and  
she knows whom he's talking about.  
"He wants a prophecy, Rachel. Soon."

"I told you," she sighs, throwing  
her hair over her shoulder. "I  
am not your psychic. I hear  
Madam Cleo's looking for a job."

"This isn't a joke." He leans  
forward, and this is dangerous territory.  
His eyes are dark, tempting. "If  
I can't get you to talk  
he'll find someone more persuasive. And  
they won't be nice like me."

Rachel scoffs, holding up her shackles.  
"This isn't what I'd consider _nice_."

"You're lucky that you're my  
responsibility," he says, moving closer. Heavy  
hand settles on her upper thigh.  
Heat pools in unfamiliar, aching places.  
"I'm not going to push you."

His words always have double meanings.  
She really hates that about him.

**-o-**

Rachel doesn't tell him about her  
dreams of skin, heated bodies, and  
pleasure so good, it takes her  
breath away. It's always him, always  
his blue eyes, hair, lips, tongue.  
Whispers of fantasies, slow burning desire.

Every night since she arrived, that's  
all she sees. She's going to  
have him; it's fate, destiny, whatever.

**-o-**

That is definitely not that prophecy  
the Titan Lord wants from her.

**iii.**

Rachel's restless, unhappy. He has to  
fix that, otherwise he won't get  
that damn prophecy. It's so complicated.

"What do you like to do?  
In your spare time, I mean."

She looks at him like he's  
stupid. "You mean when I haven't  
been kidnapped by power-hungry egomaniacs?"

"Hey, I just do what I'm  
told," Luke responds, used to bantering  
with her. He likes her boldness.  
"So what hobbies do you have?"

"Painting. Drawing." Her lip trembles suddenly.  
She looks away, but he sees  
tears glistening in her pretty eyes.

It's the first time he's seen  
her cry. And it's the first  
time he even feels remotely guilty.

**-o-**

He steals her pencils, a sketchbook.  
Moves her shackles to her ankles.

"Told ya you were getting spoiled."

Rachel's smile's like sunlight – too cliché.  
Part of him that's still heroic  
stirs, wanting to do good things.  
Luke squashes that ridiculous urge quickly.

She makes him feel painfully mortal.  
He should hate her for that.

**-o-**

For the lord of time, Kronos  
sure is hellishly impatient. Maybe Luke  
would be too, if he had  
been stuck in a pit for  
thousands of years. Grumpy old bastard.

Luke comes back from a quest.  
Finds Hyperion in his chambers. Shit.

Rachel's backed into a wall, Titan  
looming over her. She isn't frightened,  
just pissed off. Luke is too.

"What do you think you're doing?"  
Luke demands, yanking Hyperion away. He  
may be the second-in-command,  
have the power of the sun,  
but Luke got Kronos a body.  
Without him, there'd be no army.  
"The Oracle is my responsibility, understand?"

"You've had her for three weeks,"  
Hyperion says. Gee, he can count.  
"You should've had a prophecy by  
now. Unless you're not as effective  
as you want us to believe…"

Luke doesn't rise to his bait.  
He hates the Titans just as  
much as the gods some days.

"Two days. Then it's my turn."

Hyperion runs a finger down Rachel's  
cheek. She slaps his hand away.  
He leans closer, until she flinches.

"Two days and you're mine, Oracle."

Luke's stomach twists with anger, disgust.  
He hates this side of war.

**iv.**

Big leather armchair, long legs splayed,  
brooding in front of a fire.  
Luke embodies the conflicted villain cliché.

Rachel decides to make things easier  
for them both. It's fate, anyway.  
She couldn't change it if she  
wanted to. Not like she does.

**-o-**

Chains have a lot of reach.  
Climbs into his lap, startles him.  
Blue eyes dance with fire's reflection.

"Rachel – " he protests. It dies quick.

Her lips press against the tip  
of his scar, trailing slowly down  
jagged edges to upturned mouth corner.  
Breathing's labored, hands straining to touch.

"You're sure, Rachel?" he says tensely

She kisses him, and then says,  
"I'm the Oracle. I'm always sure."

His hand tangles in her hair,  
lips move desperately hungry on hers.  
Presses her hips against his – _ooh_.

Abandon the chair, on the floor.  
Silk slides off; she feels _everything_.

**-o-**

Lord Kronos gets his stupid prophecy.  
But Rachel gets to keep Luke.

It's a pretty fair trade, really.


End file.
